


Even After All This Time, I’m Still In Love With you

by moonlightrenjun, TheLastWhiteRose



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Bisexuality, Boys Kissing, Draco Malfoy should be a tag in and of himself, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, They’re so cute on god, Wholesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-22 23:25:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18537607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlightrenjun/pseuds/moonlightrenjun, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLastWhiteRose/pseuds/TheLastWhiteRose
Summary: In which Draco and Harry finally talk (it only took alcohol and two kids).





	Even After All This Time, I’m Still In Love With you

**Author's Note:**

> So, first and foremost, I have to say that I really, really enjoyed working on this with @moonlightrenjun. She’s so talented and she’s so amazing and you guys definitely need to check out her other works. This never could’ve come to fruition without her.
> 
>  
> 
> _(TheLastWhiteRose is giving me too much credit here :) she's absolutely the one who made this story come to life! <3)_

Harry isn’t sure what he’s doing. Sure, his brain  _ processes _ that he’s currently sitting in the living room of Malfoy Manor, drinking tea brewed by his former arch-nemesis, but it doesn’t quite understand why. Every fiber of his body rejects this interaction, and by the looks of it, so does Draco’s. His thin lips are pursed even thinner, and other than the occasional tinkling of him stirring sugar cubes into his tea, Harry can scarcely hear a sound from him. The intent behind doing so is clear: bear through it all for the sake of his son, who is off traipsing with Albus outside. Harry suppresses a smile at that. Scorpius is the only force on earth that could ever compel him to interact with Harry again, given their tumultuous history. 

Harry has barely said a single word to the man, aside “Hello!” and “Tea would be delightful.” The grandfather clock in the corner of the room, elaborately dressed with emerald plating, ticks on and on annoyingly as he wonders how long this dreadful meeting could last. After all, Albus had begged Harry for hours on end to meet up with the Malfoys. Once they arrived at the Manor, the boys were quite delighted to see each other; Harry barely getting in a word in once Albus had spotted Scorpius from outside the Manor. He looks up at the ceiling, and then down at the carpet. He’s so terribly bored, and the only other person in the room is the person Harry would least like to talk to. Never mind the fact that they haven’t spoken a word in ten years.  

Eventually, he figures that one of them has to break the silence, but what could they talk about? He couldn’t very well bring up his dead wife, nor his own failed marriage, though he’s sure Draco would get a kick out of that. It had been quite the spectacle of the Wizarding World, the Boy Who Lived getting a divorce. Harry allows himself a slight grimace at the memory. It hadn’t been his fault, nor had it been Ginny’s, really. He’d been overworked and stressed, while she’d been neglected. It was only natural that they grew apart, but Harry can’t help the slight twinge in his heart at the thought of her. Not that it matters now, when he’s smack-dab in the middle of enemy territory and floundering for something to say. He settles on an innocuous topic, and clears his throat awkwardly.

“So, how’s work?” It’s an awkward question, Harry barely stops himself from cringing after he asks it.

“Good.” Draco replies with a single word, not taking any time to give further explanation. He drains the last of his tea, and picks up the tea pot, only to find it completely empty. “I’m just going to, er, fill this with some more tea.” Draco walks out of the room. Harry stares at the door confused. When had things ever been awkward between him and Draco? Never. There was always something to fill silence. There were poisonous remarks, and mean shoves, and awkward just never played a role between the two boys. Harry nearly wants Draco to go back to the snarling, scowling version that he knows.

In the meantime, Harry busies himself by staring at his surroundings. The last time he’d even stepped foot into Malfoy Manor was when he was being dragged in by Death Eaters, bruised and beaten beyond recognition. He feels himself soften at the memory. Draco could’ve told the truth, that he did, in fact, recognize the person Voldemort dragged in as Harry Potter. Harry wouldn’t have blamed him. They were always at each other’s throats, and letting Voldemort kill him would’ve been the ultimate revenge. Still, Draco had shown him mercy, had feigned ignorance, almost to the point of his own death, all to save him, his self appointed enemy. Harry refocuses his gaze, realizing that he’s been staring forlornly at the door. His eyes fall on a portrait of Astoria, hidden away in the corner of the room, and he feels a sudden pang of sympathy for the boy who’d tormented him all those years ago.

He’s still staring at the portrait when Draco comes back. Before Harry can pretend that he was just merely looking around the room, Draco’s eyes flick over the artwork. “Here!” Draco announces sharply, setting the teapot down heavier than needed.

“I didn’t mean to stare…” Harry tries to stammer out. Draco doesn’t respond, instead, filling his tea cup to the brim. Harry copies him, taking a sip to suppress the general feeling of wanting to run away at this exact moment. He’s tempted to spit out the tea. Why is it so bitter? Why does it burn his throat? Draco smirks. For the first time since he’s arrived, Harry can see first year Draco.

“Don’t worry about it,” Draco says after a while, gazing at the portrait. Even without the use of magical animation, the painting seems alive. It’s almost as if Astoria could simply step out of the illustration, sling her arm around Draco, and return to everyday life. Draco’s expression is unreadable, but when he turns back to face Harry, his smirk returns. “She was a real beauty when she was alive. Always could calm me down when I got riled up, but that’s neither here nor there. Drink your tea.” The authoritative edge to his voice almost makes Harry oblige, and he takes a tentative sip to appease him.

Somehow, the second sip was even worse than the first, and this time, Harry can’t stop himself from coughing as his body violently rejects the tea. A question shoots out of his mouth before he can filter himself. “What the fuck is wrong with this tea?” Draco looks startled for a moment, but he quickly gains back his composure. “I can assure you it’s not poisoned.” The words roll off his tongue smoothly. “But I might have just added a bit of firewhiskey.”

There it is: first year Draco, with all his mischief and utter disregard for Harry’s feelings. He did what he wanted, when he wanted. Somehow, Harry thought, it was better than morose, adult Draco. With that in mind, he took another sip out of his spiked tea. Now that he knew it had alcohol in it, it wasn’t nearly as bad. “Shame it took us two kids and a bit of alcohol to make us talk to each other.”

Draco shrugs. “Who said that was my reasoning? Maybe I just add firewhiskey for fun?” The corners of his mouth dart up.

“Alert  _ The Prophet,  _ Draco Malfoy is a single, and attractive alcoholic bad boy! He needs a good girl to save him. Ladies, gather ‘round!” Harry smirks. He lets the liquid settle in his mouth. Oddly, the tea works with the burn of the firewhiskey; it’s destructive and healing at the same time.

“Good boy,” Draco clarifies, almost absentmindedly. He says it so naturally that for a split second, Harry looks at him, dumbfounded. At Harry’s expression, Draco laughs. “He needs a good  _ boy _ to save him.” He pauses, taking in Harry’s face, before adding for his benefit, “I figured out I was bisexual after Astoria died, and I’ve given up on ever finding a woman as understanding as Astoria, so…”

Harry splutters for words, taking another sip of his tea to mask his silence. Somehow, the firewhiskey makes allows him to finally speak unhindered, and he stumbles his way through his next sentences. “I mean, that’s great. That you’ve, uh, figured that out.”

Draco gives off a forced laugh. “I wasn’t asking for your acceptance, but, thanks?” Harry wonders if he has said something wrong. He looks to Draco, but he’s already has his head down, swirling his tea around and around.

“I’m bisexual too.” Harry says, words spilling over and out of his mouth before he can even register them.

The words are stilted, not nearly as natural as Draco’s admission, and for good reason too. For as liberal as the Wizarding World claimed to be, Harry still feared retaliation and backlash. It was an irrational fear, as the public revered him in any form whatsoever, but he was closeted nonetheless. By the looks of it, Draco hadn’t been for some time.

Draco nods. “Forgive me, but I’ve had you pegged since back in our Hogwarts days.”  _ Hogwarts days? _ Harry tries to sort back through his memories, to see how he could have ever known before Harry himself knew. “Come now, you can’t have possibly thought that no one would’ve noticed, right? ‘Specially for someone who was always staring at you, figuring out ways to make your life miserable.” He locks eyes with Harry, gaze so intense that Harry almost has to look away. He doesn’t. Draco’s stare  _ should _ make him uncomfortable, but it doesn’t.

There’s a lull in the conversation as Harry reflects upon what was said. He doesn’t know why he feels so surprised. Harry spent half of his Hogwarts years staring right back at those grey eyes, wondering what kind of personality hid behind a wall of riches. Time and time again, he found that no such personality existed, beyond being a carbon copy of his father. So why was it different now, when they were both adults, and Draco fixed him with that grey stare that reanimated all his old, confusing emotions he’d vehemently suppressed as a teenager.

Draco clears his throat, and an easy smirk replaces his vulnerable gaze. Harry finds himself thinking that he’d like to see that soft, unguarded expression again. Draco throws back his tea, almost like a shot of liquid confidence, before he opens his mouth again. “You know I never really hated you, right?”  

Harry falters, nearly dropping the cup out of his hands.  _ No,  _ he wants to say,  _ no, I didn’t know that and I didn’t want to come today because I thought you hated me and even Hermione told me that you probably didn’t hate me but I still didn’t believe her and if you don’t—didn’t—hate me then what was all of Hogwarts about?   _ Draco takes a deep breath, and Harry places the teacup back onto the table, afraid that whatever Draco has to say next will promptly force him to spill tea all over the luxurious rug that lays at their feet.

“I...envied you. I envied your freedom, the way you weren’t trapped by tradition. I envied the way that people wanted to be your friend, even those close to me. God, you and Granger and even fucking Weasley, you all shone like gold, and I just didn’t.”

Harry’s astonished, and he can’t stop himself from blurting out of line. “But you have your family, and this mansion, and so much money. Draco, couldn’t you buy your own freedom?”

Draco laughs at that. It’s a sharp sound, like glass shattering in an empty room. “Harry, you don’t understand. Money was my father’s tool to make sure I didn’t step out of line. When he didn’t feel like parenting me, he’d throw something expensive at me to make up for it. Money wasn’t my way to freedom, it was deliberately keeping me away from it.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t have taken it out on you and your friends,” continues Draco, almost as if he’s making amends. “For that, I apologize, really. Scorpius and Albus really seem to get along, and for their sake’s, I’d like us to be on better terms too.”

Harry has never been good at reading people, but right now, he wishes for nothing more than for Draco to want the same thing as him. Draco’s eyes are darker now; they’re full of a light that Harry hasn’t ever seen before. By some unexplainable force, he feels himself getting closer and closer to Draco, as if there’s a magnet between the two of them. He can’t stop himself, and Draco hasn’t stopped him from moving closer and closer, inches away. He still doesn’t know what he’s doing here, closer than ever to Draco. It feels right.

They’re so close, close enough that Harry can see every minute change in Draco’s expression. Harry had never allowed himself to even entertain the thought before, but Draco was genuinely beautiful. All soft features, with lashes so long that it nearly put any woman to shame. He finds himself briefly wondering what it would be like if he’d figured everything out as a teenager, if they were doing this at sixteen instead of thirty, and Harry decides he doesn’t care. They’re doing this now, and that’s all that matters.

“What, are you just gonna stare at me all day, or are you going to kiss me?” Draco says, teasing as always.

So he does. It’s clumsy at first, all awkward angles and accidental bumping, but when the shock wears off that he is, indeed, kissing Draco Malfoy, the kiss softens. Their mouths meld together, as if finding a rhythm, and when Harry pulls up for air, he can’t help but feel that this is, in fact, right.

“Come on now,” says Draco, and instead of his trademark smirk, his lips are pulled up in a softer smile. “You have to admit, that must’ve been worth the trip up here.”

Harry shuts him up with another kiss.

Later, the boys stumble in, flowers in hair and stones in pockets. They make their way past the front hallway, sliding down the wood floor in socks, and Scorpius takes a tiny tumble. He waits for his father to come out and scold them for not being careful, for the grass stains in their jeans and the constant ruckus.

Nothing.

Something is off. Scorpius swings his body around the door frame of the living room, the place where dad had said he’d take Albus’s father. What he finds in there, makes him grimace and smirk at the same time. He pokes Albus until Albus looks his way, gesturing towards the room. Albus takes one look, and scowls, wordlessly handing Scorpius five Galleons. Scorpius automatically hands them back. At Albus’ questioning glance, he shrugs. “I would have given anything to not see that.” Albus gives him a pat on the shoulder, and they bravely march into the room together. They might pretend they’re disgusted (at least at first), but they’re both secretly happy for their fathers.

When they officially announce it to the public, Scorpius is curled up by Harry’s side, and Albus, tucked under the arm of Draco.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, kudos and comments are appreciated!


End file.
